Saturday, July 23, 2011

(assemblage sculpture)

I want to make a girl with wingsNot like whoI was beforeThe father’s daughtermummy girlhanging from the ceilingShe swayed above my father’s head“What does that mean?”he asked me once“She is a partof me that died,”I answered him with cautionI didn’t go furtherto tell him whynot wanting thento hurt him.She was wrapped in silver clothwith silver eyesthat couldn’t seea silver mouththat couldn’t speakand silver handstied down Like leather beltshe wrapped me inbeyond recallthe silver weltslike battle scarsrising on my skinHe made me histhe mummy girlasleep a thousand yearsI want to makea girl with wingswho isn’t deadand dry insidewho still can weepbut not for himwhose body bleedsbut not for himwhose skin belongsto her aloneto do with what she willI want to makea girl with wingsand teach her how to fly